


Fancy You

by Savaial



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Fifth Doctor - Freeform, M/M, Simm!Master, tenth doctor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savaial/pseuds/Savaial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Best Enemies prompt as follows; •Fifth Doctor meeting Simm!Master has been done but I would like to see it with the Doctor completely convinced that by this time they must have settled down together and Simm totally shocked that the Doctor felt that way at the time. If the Master tells him the truth or nothing or tries to fix things in the future for them is all up to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/. It is a wonderful place to go and love Doctor Who.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said a very long-ago, familiar voice.

The Master slowly turned his head, his hearts beating very, very fast. There stood the Doctor, the blond one, wearing that silly cricketing outfit complete with stupid stick of celery. His smile could have illuminated the darkest pits of Sheol. He rocked on his heels, hands behind his back, and the Master could see the brim of his hat peeking out from there. The Doctor, ridiculous and beautiful, like always.

The Master always secretly thought of the Doctor as fairy spirit. Gay and charming, dark and brooding, mischievous and elusive. Take a swipe at him and he’d vanish only to immediately pop up somewhere else and bite the blood out from somewhere very tender. A creature that looked very natural no matter the environment, because environment takes a bow to self-promotion, first. Ego is so natural to a fairy that it cannot imagine anyone not loving it. Even when cruel.

“Are you far ahead of me?” The Doctor asked, still speaking to him quite civilly and without any sort of pressure. He didn’t hate the Master yet, nor did he weep for him. They were still equals, in his mind. He’d play if the Master insisted, would give it his very best effort and indulge in the name calling, but he took it personally. The Master hadn’t forced a bigger issue, one the Doctor could easily adapt to fulfilling his eternal need to be appreciated, an issue he could twist into martyrdom. This was a Doctor very unwilling to die. A Doctor with actual hope in his hearts.

The Master licked his lips. “Far enough that I’m responsible for the consequences if I influence you,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect to see you, of course. Your traveling isn’t predictable.” With what he hoped served as casual unconcern, the Master tightened the leather straps on his arm guard.

“Then I don’t have to worry about meeting my future self, just you?” The Doctor asked, still not making a single step backward or forward.

“No.” The Master made himself look away from those brilliant, bottomless eyes. “Do I have to worry about seeing my past self?"

  
No.” The Doctor smiled again, showing teeth. His amusement had all the danger of playing in traffic. Like this, the fairy showed it had knife sharp teeth. _Am I annoying you? Bat at me, then, give me an excuse…_ “Then, I suppose we’re on our best behavior?”

The Master’s hearts began to beat slow and hard. He felt such an urge to just play with this Doctor. This one wouldn’t cry on him.

The Doctor stopped rocking on his heels. “How you look at me,” he murmured. “What happened? Has my future self done something untoward? Oh, you can’t answer that.” He put his hat on and looked up at the sky. “Your bird’s on his way back.”

Smoothly, the Master lifted his arm and let Ysidro land. He had a nice, fat hare. The Master passed him off to a waiting attendant and received his applause from the small audience. He’d known exactly where his bird was no matter how inattentive he might appear, and it had thrilled the audience to wait for that bird to plummet.

“I thought he’d surprise you,” the Doctor admitted, prattling on in that look-at-me-I’m-harmless way. Nothing could be further from the truth. The fairy has nerves of steel and can play any game.

The Master looked at him, feeling a swell of appreciation for the Doctor. No matter how he bellyached or dragged his feet when he didn’t approve of a diversion the Master set in motion, he still participated. He never refused, and had just as much desire to win, determined to glean dazzling light in the darkest tunnel. He had spirit and flare and could play games with anyone, but he chose to play the Master’s again and again.

The Doctor coughed. “Yes, well, if this is personal let’s get off the field, shall we?” He looked toward the empty blacksmith’s exhibit. “Out of the sun and even has a flat surface to sit on, or in your case, lurk around.”

The Master’s lips twitched. Cheeky little Doctor. Lippy.

He followed, surprised when the Doctor dropped back to let him draw astride. “I know I can be beastly, but surely you should be with my future self?” He sidestepped a group of women sitting in the grass getting an embroidery lesson, taking his hat off for them and then putting it right back on his head. “I just saw your current self a few days ago.”

The Master could narrow that down to five occasions, but didn’t try. He shelved it for later. “You say that as if you expect me to turn up wherever you do,” the Master pointed out.

“You’ll hurt my feelings.” The Doctor ducked under the eaves overhang and entered the dead forge. Graceful as anything, he hopped up onto the circular table that ran the circumference. “No beard this time. I didn’t ask you to shave, did I?”

It was subtle, but the Master picked up on an impossible truth. The Doctor thought his future self and this Master were in a relationship. Stunned, he just stood there and let the Doctor prattle on.

“What would you be violating a time law for?” He mused aloud. “Can’t be anything I approve of; do I need to worry for myself? Should I take off and let you do whatever this is so it doesn’t influence us later?”

“Stop,” the Master managed to say.

The Doctor instantly stopped talking. His eyes took him in with a little harder focus, but still open and expectant. That alone shook the Master to the core, because the Doctor never shut up when anyone asked him or ordered him to. But, to _stay_ silent, that was… that was…

Slowly, the Master approached him, noting the eyes going wider and wider, more and more anticipatory but not at all threatened. Stopping right at the Doctor’s knees, the Master felt more frightened than he ever had in his entire life. Could he have possibly been so caught up in games that he missed this? Staring up into the Doctor’s eyes, now, and feeling them lock together…

“Ohh,” the Doctor said in a small, sad voice. “I’ve really done something I oughtn’t, haven’t I?” The fairy’s wings were drooping.

“No,” the Master told him, feeling it the honest response.

“What, then?” The Doctor asked.

The Master smiled a little. He had so much adrenaline coursing through his veins that he practically vibrated in place. “You think we’re a couple.”

“Aren’t we?” The Doctor’s astonishment made his back stiffen into a rod and his shoulders go square. “What happened? Am I dead?”

A tiny huff of shocked amusement escaped the Master’s lips. If he answered to the negative, that could well be the reason the Doctor never _tried_ to obtain him in this way. If he answered to the affirmative, he might _ensure_ that it happened. Right now he had to choose between having the Doctor and not having the Doctor.

“Why do you want me?” He asked, not answering.

Relaxing marginally, the Doctor turned his head. His neck was slightly pink. “Funny how you’re always the same person no matter when you are, and I get a mixed bag,” he said. “It must be difficult, my being so unreliable.”

He, too, dodged the question.

“I’m not the same, though,” the Master argued. “I’m very insane at the moment. My earlier selves had a better grip.”

“I feel that’s in my future as well,” the Doctor said, still not looking at him. “Is your TARDIS close?”

“I don’t have one anymore,” the Master told him. “A temporal explosion threw me here.”

“Then, we have to get you back to your rightful place and time.”

“It’ll mean crossing your own time stream.”

“It’s for a good cause.” The Doctor hopped down and walked around him, still blushing. “Come on. Or, do you want a linear retirement from falconry?”

They came to his TARDIS in only a few minutes; the Doctor had parked it fairly close to the festival. The Master stood in the control room, smiling at the décor. So clean, so white, so scientific. This Doctor polished his TARDIS. “It looks different later,” he said, knowing that wouldn’t give anything away. “However, it’s always up to date with the current _**you**_.”

“I should hope.” The Doctor hesitated at the controls. “One thing. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but don’t take advantage of me, Master. Give me your natural timeline and place.”

The Master thought hard, checked his memory, and gave his request. The Doctor he’d left there had soulful eyes, and now he knew why. He’d never had his question answered.

The TARDIS made the journey very quickly. Her pilot opened the doors and smiled at him. “I’d peek, but I really shouldn’t,” he said.

The Master stopped just in the threshold and turned back. “Don’t listen to my pleading,” he told him. “Just do it. Let it happen.”

The Doctor didn’t understand, but his eyes showed no fear of that, merely acceptance.

“Also,” the Master continued, his voice coming out lower than he intended, “don’t give up.”

“I wouldn’t,” the Doctor swore.

 

The Master strode out and got his bearings as the TARDIS began dematerializing. He had five minutes or less to get to the mansion in order to pick up when and where he should be had he not been thrown so far. If he hit his Twin’s path he might overlap and cancel him out, otherwise he’d be trapped in an eternal and private loop.

No pressure.

 

**

 

The Master shut down the nuclear accident waiting to happen by overriding the security protocols and dumping all the radiation into the chamber beside the Doctor’s. His forearm itched and he ignored it; he couldn’t relax until he knew the Doctor wasn’t going to come to harm. Even fairies are reborn only so many times.

Also ignoring Wilfred Mott, the Master hauled the severely wounded Doctor from his glass prison. “Where?” He asked simply, picking him up in a fireman’s lift. The Doctor mumbled something barely comprehensible. Mott got up and offered to show him the way, seeing he was trying to help and believing in him with typical human resilience.

“Can’t take you, Granddad, sorry,” the Master said when the Doctor rallied long enough to put his TARDIS back in synch with the natural flow of time so they could board. “Too much to do in too little time.” He shut the doors and carried the Doctor past the controls and into the first corridor. “Zero Room?”

Gasping, the Doctor pointed.

Thinking he might have broken ribs, the Master flipped the Doctor into a less dignified hold, carrying him like a child. In moments they were in a good Zero Room, the Doctor tucked into one large roundel and the Master another. For a long time they simply lay there, breathing hard and soaking in the absolute nothing that would cause stabilizing.

“Jumping from a spaceship doesn’t kill you, but falling off a radio tower does?” The Master asked after a good hour of this. “You fell hundreds of feet and smashed through a steel-enforced skylight only to splatter all over a hard marble floor, yet here you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” the Doctor said tetchily. “I saw you vanish into the Time War.”

“Thrown,” the Master said. “Guess where I ended up?”

The Doctor fell out of his roundel, landing in a graceless heap. Slowly, one leg and one arm got sorted enough to make their mates obey. He lilted over to the Master and shoved the sleeve of his hoodie up, exposing a leather arm guard with trailing thong ties. “Oh, I’d say the Medieval Exhibition of Ghalt, in the Schtadt Sector of the Revolving Moons of Plator, somewhere around forty-first of Elga at standard hour two.” He finished his terrible run-on with a terrific slap to the Master’s face.

The fairy was ticked off.

“Two standard weeks earlier, actually,” the Master was pleased to correct him. “I didn’t just land and magically take a place in the fair.” He shoved off and out of the roundel, tackling the Doctor and taking him down to the floor.

“Ouch! My ribs!” The Doctor cuffed him in the side of his head. “My… ribs!”

“If _**you**_ , you stubborn arse, could have just _**told**_ me,” the Master panted, rolling to put the Doctor on top but taking him by the wrists so he couldn’t leave. “That was the very sort of game you could have trusted me with! But no, you had to play coy.”

“My fifth self was all about coyness and you know it, you wretched little megalomaniac!” The Doctor leaned until their faces were bare inches apart. “You could have made a choice then and there and you didn’t, you bloody didn’t!”

“I had the disadvantage of knowing how everything went, so don’t throw that at me!” The Master protested. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

The Doctor wheezed a little as shifting caused his ribs to hurt. “Hand my feelings over to the person most invested in crushing me? I don’t think so!”

“Idiot, you’ve made us waste centuries!”

“Me? You’re the one that turns the most innocent of pastimes into vicious plots!”

The Master dove upon the Doctor’s mouth before he fully knew what he intended, and the Doctor’s immediate compliance made every nerve in his body resonate a delicious, sharp ache.

The fairy is highly sexual and doesn’t mind it if someone finds him comely. Also, the fairy is loyal to his breed and actually prefers mating with other fairies.

 

And fighting.

 

To fairies, fighting is foreplay.

 


End file.
